


portentous

by smolstiel



Series: Boyking!Sam Drabbles [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Creepy, Fire, Gen, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, hmmm how in hecc do i tag this, i literally dont know what to put but im very proud pls read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: mon•stermŏn′stərFrom the Latin nounmonstrum,omen, monster, frommonēre,to warnThe ancients considered the appearance of such beings to be a sign of some impending supernatural event. Monsters, like angels, functioned as messengers and heralds of the extraordinary. They served to announce impending revelation, saying, in effect,"Pay attention; something of profound importance is happening."For the Boyking Discord server.
Series: Boyking!Sam Drabbles [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1135400
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: BoyKingSam discord server prompt-fight fills





	portentous

On Monday May 2nd, 1983, at 4:37pm, at Lawrence Memorial Hospital in Kansas, a healthy baby boy was delivered at six pounds, nine ounces. The baby did not stop screaming until 4:42pm, when an earthquake struck in Coalinga, California, injuring ninety-eight people and causing ten million dollars in property damage. Ninety-seven of those people were in California at the time. The last victim was the mother, who unaccountably died on the table despite having lost minimal blood. 

“I am sorry,” the doctor said, handing the swaddled infant to the father and shaking his head. “We can’t keep him here any longer. It’s a child of tragedy.” The father’s face paled, but he nodded stiffly. He took the firstborn’s small hand and left without another word. The small honey-brown eyes stayed fixed on him all the way home. 

On May 16th, 1984, at 10:11am, the child took his first steps. The father only knew because the firstborn gave a soft coo of wonder, arms held out to welcome his brother. The child took three steps before the father could snatch him up. 

The firstborn bounced up to follow him. “Daddy! Sammy was walking! He came walking to me!” The child made no noise, but stared back at the father with an unblinking gaze.

“I don’t want you playing with Sammy anymore,” the father said, and put the child behind the bars of his crib. 

On December 4th, 1985 at 12:44pm, the child spoke his first word. The father had been loading groceries onto the counter. The firstborn was in school now, and the child was tucked into the shopping cart’s seat, buckled in securely. The cashier was a young woman, grinning softly at the child around her pops of gum between her teeth. “You have such pretty eyes,” she told the child. “Where did you get such beautiful eyes, hm?” 

“From blood,” the child said matter-of-factly. 

The cashier went dead quiet and finished checking them out.

The firstborn was thrilled to discover his brother could speak, and spent the next months chattering away to him contently, despite the responses being few and far between. The father thought at first the child was still as silent as ever, until February 27th, 1986. 

“Rubber burn!” The firstborn said gleefully, skidding his toy car across the carpet with a high pitched sound effect. “And he’s coming around the final lap, he’s on fire, folks!” 

“Fire,” the child said. 

“You like fire too much, Sammy,” the firstborn replied. 

The father stopped his journey down the hallway to look in at them. The child looked back at him. His face was too soft to hold eyes so hollow. 

On August 19th, 1988, at 6:57am the child hesitated after his brother in the early morning light. The father quickly stepped forward and placed a hand on the thin shoulder. “It’s time for school, Sammy. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

The child looked up at him, expressionless under his soft bangs. “If I go to school now bad things will happen.” The father wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a statement of fact. He said nothing as the firstborn returned and took his hand. 

“C’mon, Sammy, or we’ll be late!” He helped him up the steps of the school bus and the two of them disappeared inside. It was the last time the father saw the child or the firstborn, until the world was on fire. 

Eight hours later the father awoke slowly, squinted through watery, red-rimmed eyes, to focus on golden irises through a haze of smoke. “You left your cigarette lit,” the child told him. 

The firstborn was curled up on the bed, fast asleep, or perhaps passed out. The air was too thick to breathe. The father reached out a hand. “Help me,” he croaked out. “Please, Sam.” 

“I tried to warn you,” the child said softly.


End file.
